


The Soloist

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor spends some alone-time with himself. Euphemistically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soloist

Part of being more comfortable around River is that he's spent quite a bit of time with her now. Part of it – he suspects more – is that he's dutifully allowed her to replace Amy as his main wank-fantasy.

Not that there's anything wrong with _thinking_ about having sex with a married woman, but he has to touch Rory with that hand and it makes him feel guilty. The hands-off approach apparently includes keeping his hands off _himself_ if he's going to avoid a sense of awkwardness around her husband.

River is also married, but he suspects that's not really an issue.

He hasn't _completely_ stopped thinking about Amy during his special alone-time, that would just be a waste, but replacing her with River has been... interesting.

Apparently she's a screamer. That's a useful bit of information. He'd assumed she'd be vocally enthusiastic, but it's nice to have some confirmation. He can be quite picky about realism in his fantasies. (Another reason for ditching Amy – he's running out of scenarios to get her away from Rory for long enough to shag her senseless.)

So there's River, in... oh, TARDIS-blue underwear, he's got to get her some of that. Does he know her well enough to buy her underwear? It suits her, does that make a difference? Well, in this fantasy he does, and she's very grateful. It has to come off, of course, but she can wear it next time as well. Next time she'll reveal it when she slips slowly out of her dress, but he's not in the mood to wait this time.

Fast-forward and she's on his bed, panting with need, her breasts rising and falling on each breath. They're beautiful, absolutely perfect. He takes the time to explore her curves, memorising them from a memory, touching and kissing and licking. He hasn't lost the oral fixation after all. She presses against his mouth, tugs at his hair when he goes down on her. In the real world he reaches up with one hand to mess with his own hair the way River would. He runs the other hand down his chest, across his stomach, lightly touches his cock when she asks for it.

“Oh, you bad girl,” he murmurs. “Always so direct.” But then, they're all direct in his fantasies, always eager and so very willing to take the lead if he won't.

His hand covers his cock as he slides into her, tries to imitate the tightness and the heat of her body. She's wet and gasping, trapping him against and inside her with her legs. Oh, those legs. He traces the curve of her thigh and braces himself above her with her other arm. Kisses her mouth, licking his own lips the way she does. She moves her head and bites at his shoulder, telling – begging, really – him to move.

He goes slow at first, more to drive her to distraction than to give her a chance to get used to the penetration. She tilts her head back against the pillow and he bends his head to kiss his way across her throat, up to her chin and just shy of her mouth. Moves up when she whimpers, takes her lower lip into his mouth and bites gently. Oh, wait...

He's on his back, River above him as she moves her hips rapidly. Up and down she goes, back and forth and every other movement she can find. Her hair spills loose around her shoulders, her skin is flushed and covered in a thin film of sweat. His hand speeds up when she does, and the other grips the rails of the bed because she's got the handcuffs out tonight. She isn't gentle and he doesn't mind, enjoys the view of her breasts pushed out towards him and his cock disappearing into her when she slides down. It's a bit much and so he shifts the scene.

She's on her hands and knees, calling out his name when he enters her and when his hand slaps against her arse. Oh, she loves that, he can tell. She's never been subtle. Not too much, he doesn't want to hurt her, but enough that she's begging and pleading for him to fuck her harder. He finds her clit with his left hand, holding her hips with the other. She collapses forwards a bit when she comes and then -

He's back on top of her, watching her face as she comes, loud and unrestrained. Once will have to be enough for her, because he can't hold back and doesn't particularly want to. No, sneak in another one, right after the first. You can't say he isn't generous.

He says “Fuck” out loud as he comes, covering his own hand and shutting his eyes against the suddenly-too-bright light of the bedroom. His hearts thump wildly in his chest, and his breath comes in deep gasps for air. Oh, she's good. He lies with sweat cooling on his skin for a while before he can will himself to clean up.

The TARDIS thoughtfully dims the lights for him and he mumbles thanks as he turns onto his side. River can stay the night, he thinks, reaching a hand across the bed as he wraps an arm round her and rests against her side. She whispers love as he falls asleep, a lot more tender these days. Her hair tickles his nose and he smiles against her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Sweetie,” she yawns.

What he says, however freely given, is between him and the empty room.


End file.
